


Loving You Without Trying

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a tag for 4.6</p>
<p>
  <i>“Your arm, Derek.”  Stiles reaches over and grabs Derek’s arm, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt.  “It might be healed now, but how long did it take, huh?  I’ve never seen scrapes on you last that long.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“It’s nothing.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Stiles sets his jaw, his fingers digging into Derek’s arm, holding it in place.  Reaching down, he unzips the bag and digs out a knife.  “You want to try that again?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving You Without Trying

**Author's Note:**

> a tag for 4.6 that ignores large parts of canon because this is fic and I can do what I want.
> 
> with thanks to BK.

Stiles bangs on the door to the loft, still confused about why the fuck Derek hasn’t moved yet. “Derek,” he yells, the side of his hand hurting from hitting the door over and over again. “C’mon, I need to talk to you.”

“Hey,” Derek says, coming up behind him and catching Stiles’ arm. “What are you doing?”

“You’re okay.”

“I — why wouldn’t I be?” Stepping over the bag Stiles has left on the floor, Derek opens the door and steps inside, turning to face Stiles. “You coming in?”

Nodding, Stiles picks up the bag and walks into the loft. “Lock the door.”

Derek raises his eyebrows, but does what Stiles says, pocketing his keys and sitting on the couch. “What’s going on?”

“The deadpool,” Stiles says, walking over, dropping the bag on the table and joining Derek. “The cipher for the last part, it’s — it was you.”

“I’m not dead.”

“I know that, asshole.” Raking his hands through his hair, Stiles bites his lip. “Banshees predict death, right? So Lydia — we tried that and you — it was _your_ name, Derek. You know what that means.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit. You think I didn’t see what happened at Deaton’s?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your arm, Derek.” Stiles reaches over and grabs Derek’s arm, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt. “It might be healed now, but how long did it take, huh? I’ve never seen scrapes on you last that long.”

“It’s nothing.”

Stiles sets his jaw, his fingers digging into Derek’s arm, holding it in place. Reaching down, he unzips the bag and digs out a knife. “You want to try that again?”

“What the fuck, Stiles?” Jerking away from Stiles’ grip, Derek jumps off the couch and stares at Stiles. “What the — what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not the one who refuses to admit there’s something wrong.”

“I’m handling it.” Derek rolls his sleeve down and crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to be involved. None of you need to be involved.”

“Will you — don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“That’s the problem.” Dropping the knife on the table, Stiles stands up and inserts himself into Derek’s space, getting so close he can see the way Derek’s eyes are tight, closed off. “You’re not trusting anyone. That’s not going to work.”

“Someone is helping me.”

“Who?”

Derek’s gaze falls, and he wets his lips before answering. “Argent.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Kate did this to you, right? And you’re going to trust her brother to help you with this?” Stiles pushes Derek’s shoulder and takes a step back. “What the fuck?”

“He’s like me,” Derek says quietly, still avoiding Stiles’ eyes. “He doesn’t have anything left to lose.”

Stiles huffs, shaking his head as he lifts up the bag and empties the contents on the floor between them, knives and other weapons falling to the floor. “I brought these for you. Because I knew you’d need help.” Shrugging, Stiles kicks a pair of brass knuckles. “But I guess you’re just going to go the self-destructive route. Do you even give a shit about the fact that we don’t want to lose you? That _I_ don’t want to lose you?”

“You’d survive.”

“What if I don’t want to survive?”

Derek looks at him, frowning, his hand twitching by his side. “You have your dad, you have Scott —”

“I don’t mean — I didn’t mean I want to die. I mean I’m sick of _surviving_. People die, they always die and we can’t stop it. Allison —” Stiles feels his throat closing up but he pushes on, needing to get these words out. “She died and she didn’t get a chance — we can’t always settle for surviving. That’s not enough.”

“What do you want from me?”

“To admit you need help.”

“I did.”

“From Argent. Tell me you need help.”

Derek rolls his eyes and walks away, heading towards the pile of books by his bed. Following him, Stiles reaches out and pushes him between the shoulderblades. “Stop it,” Derek says, not turning around.

“No,” Stiles says, doing it again. “Talk to me. Tell me you need help.”

“Stiles, fucking stop it.” Turning around, Derek grabs Stiles by the wrist and he’s close, so close, that Stiles can’t do this — can’t take the idea of losing someone else, losing _Derek_. Not again.

Pushing Derek’s chest with his free arm, Stiles glares at Derek. “You need help.” Lowering his voice, Stiles’ shoulders slump. “Please, Derek. Don’t make me lose another friend.”

Derek’s fingers are still wrapped around Stiles’ wrist, but he loosens his grip, his hand falling until it’s almost holding Stiles’ hand, and Stiles doesn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m not going to die.”

Tentatively turning his hand so that his and Derek’s fingers are interlocked, Stiles swallows and looks at Derek. “You’re vulnerable.”

“So are you.”

Stiles snorts, shaking his head. “I’ve had a lifetime of being a vulnerable human. You’re new at this.”

“I’m not human.”

“You’re not exactly powered, either.” Stiles pauses, suddenly aware of how close their faces are. “Let my dad teach you how to shoot.”

“What?”

“When he’s out of the hospital. Come over to the house and let him take you to the range.”

Derek huffs and squeezes Stiles’ hand, the corners of his mouth turning up. “You think we’re going to have time for that?”

“It’s important. I’m going to make time for it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

“Then you’re going to have to trust me.” Stiles searches Derek’s eyes, his brow furrowing, nose bumping against Derek’s cheek when he gets too close. “Sorry,” he blurts out. “Sorry, I didn’t —”

“Don’t apologise,” Derek says, grabbing at Stiles’ other hand. “Don’t —”

“What? What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

Stiles shakes his head and tries to control his racing heartbeat. “You’re doing this to distract me, to stop me from trying to help you, this isn’t —”

“Stiles, Stiles, stop. I trust you.”

“What?”

Derek leans in, resting their foreheads together. “I trust you.”

“You —”

“I trust you,” Derek says again, staring at Stiles, holding on tightly to his hands, and it’s — Stiles never expected this when he came over. Never expected to have Derek holding on to his hands like he’s a lifeline; never expected Derek to be looking at him like this, and even with everything they’ve seen, it’s up there with Stiles’ most terrifying experiences. Derek’s _trusting_ him with his life, with his everything.

“Are you — is this —” that’s all Stiles manages to get out before Derek’s pressing their mouths together and he’s going so slowly that Stiles can catalogue the softness of Derek’s lips, the scrape of his beard against Stiles’ chin. “Oh,” Stiles says when Derek pulls away.

“Was that —”

Stiles can’t take the look of vulnerability on Derek’s face, and he wrangles his hands free so he can touch Derek’s face, amazed at the way Derek turns into his hand when he cups his cheek. “That’s something we should do more often.”

“There’s a bed right behind me,” Derek says with a small grin. “If you want.”

“I —” Stiles blinks, his mind blanking out at the implications. “Shit, Derek, I didn’t —”

“We don’t have to if you —”

“What?” Stiles shakes his head and pushes at Derek’s chest, lighter than before. “Yeah we do. Did you think that I wouldn’t —” Breaking off, Stiles kisses Derek quickly before carrying on. “I came over here to talk about getting you help, about protecting you, I didn’t expect — it’s a very enthusiastic yes, okay?”

Derek laughs, a full smile on his face that Stiles has never seen before, and it’s _everything_ to Stiles in this moment. Stepping around Derek, Stiles sits on the edge of the bed and kicks his shoes and socks off, clambering into the middle of the mattress, his cheeks flushing under Derek’s gaze.

“You really want this.”

Stiles nods, his hand creeping across the covers in a pathetic attempt to reach Derek. “I do. If you don’t, then —”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Derek gets rid of his boots and socks, and strips off his shirt in one motion. “Just lie down.”

“Uh —” Stiles flexes his fingers and stares at Derek’s chest. “Did you _wax_ before?” Looking down at his chest, Derek flushes and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so adorable. “Forget it, come here. Please.”

Derek lays down next to Stiles, his head turned towards him, and Stiles pushes himself up on his side, his hand hovering over Derek’s chest. “Can I —”

“Oh God, Stiles it’s not a big deal, it’s just hair.”

“Shut up, I like it.” Touching Derek’s chest, he scratches his fingers through the hair. “Soft.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, a fond look on his face.

Stiles leans over and kisses him, keeps kissing him; Derek’s hands are sliding underneath Stiles’ shirt, hot against his skin and Stiles can’t decide between pushing his body back against Derek’s fingers, or kissing him until he’s breathless. “Ridiculous?” Stiles asks, his mouth dragging over Derek’s lips. “You like me ridiculous.”

“I like you.” Derek says, hauling Stiles on top of him, the tips of his fingers dipping into the waistband of Stiles’ pants. “Do you —” Derek tugs at the bottom of Stiles’ top.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sitting up, Stiles takes his top off, dropping it on the floor and scraping a hand through his hair, sure that his face is doing something stupid.

Derek curls up enough to run his hands over Stiles’ skin, placing a soft kiss against Stiles’ chest and pulling him close. “I can’t smell you,” he says in a small voice. “You always smell so good and I can’t —”

“Hey.” Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair, touching his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Derek says against Stiles’ collarbone.

“I’m gonna find a way to fix this.”

Leaning back, Derek looks at Stiles and doesn’t say a word, nods once before kissing Stiles like he’s trying to say something he can’t find words for. Stiles goes with it, letting Derek tug him back down to the bed, letting him roll him over until he’s being pressed against the bed, all of Derek a hot and heavy weight against him. All Stiles wants is for Derek to be closer; he wraps his legs around Derek and groans into Derek’s mouth when Derek’s thigh pushes right up against his dick.

“I — clothes,” Stiles mutters. “Or else I’m gonna be making a mess in my pants.”

Laughing, Derek raises up on his hands and knees and raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “Really?”

“Shut up,” Stiles protests, smacking Derek’s arm lightly. “I’m still a teenager.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, his face falling. “You are.”

“No, Derek.” Grabbing Derek’s forearm, Stiles fixes him with a look. “Don’t, okay? Don’t. I want to be here, I want to do this.”

“Okay.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“That was easier than I thought it would be.”

Derek offers Stiles a wry smile. “I’m trying to be a good person, but I’m not that good.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stiles says quietly. “Now get your pants off.” Derek laughs as he gets off Stiles, and Stiles knows that he’s never going to get sick of hearing that; making it a new goal to hear Derek laugh as often as possible. Keeping that thought in mind, Stiles gets out of his remaining clothing, his eyes flitting over to Derek every so often, trying to remember that he’s _allowed_ to look, that he’s going to be doing a lot more than looking.

He’s sitting cross legged on the bed when Derek crawls over to him, cupping the back of his head and kissing him fiercely. Stiles has never had a kiss like this before, has never felt anything like this before. It’s like his blood is on fire, his skin burning with the need to touch Derek, to never leave Derek’s side.

Stretching out on the bed, Stiles sinks back against the mattress as Derek covers him, his mouth working his way down Stiles’ neck, nipping at the skin as he goes. “Fuck, Derek.”

“I can smell you here,” Derek says, licking at the dip of Stiles’ collarbone.

“How do I smell?” Stiles asks, his hands lazily running through Derek’s hair, happy to enjoy the feel of Derek against him.

“Perfect.”

“You —”

“I’m not lying,” Derek says, lifting his head and kissing Stiles softly. “You smell perfect.”

“What are we — this is kind of —” Stiles breaks off and turns his head away, directing his gaze at the wall. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Look at me,” Derek says, touching Stiles’ chin. “Hey. You don’t have to know what you’re doing. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Stiles shifts his hips, shooting Derek a grin. “If you think I don’t want to do anything, then you’re not paying attention. I want this, Derek. I’ll say it as many times as you need me to, but please, please fuck me.”

Derek’s whole face flushes red at that and he kisses Stiles hard before rolling off him and fumbling around beside the books.

“You keep your lube with your books?” Stiles asks in disbelief, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Convenient.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, biting his lip.

“Not because of what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.”

Derek puts the tube of lube on the bed and kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth, nosing at his temple. “It’s for jerking off, not the copious amount of sex you assume I’m having.”

“I wasn’t assuming anything. I — I’m gonna stop talking.”

“I want to be here, with you.” Derek kisses the edge of Stiles’ cheekbone. “I want this, with you. More than tonight.”

“You mean —”

“I want this to be more,” Derek says, picking up the lube and crawling around the bed until he’s pushing Stiles’ legs apart. “If you want that.”

Stiles nods so furiously, he thinks he might strain his neck. “Yes. I want that, I want this.”

“Then lay back,” Derek says with a small, private smile. “Let me do this.”

“I want to see you.”

“Trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then lay back for now.”

Stiles nods, leaning back against the soft pillow, concentrating on the feel of Derek’s hands on his skin. They skim up his thighs, separating them, Derek’s fingers pressing into Stiles’ muscles.

“Okay?” Derek asks, kissing Stiles’ knee.

“Yeah.”

There’s the sound of the lube being opened, and then Derek’s between his legs, and all Stiles can think about is how much he wants this. “You ever done this to yourself?” Derek asks as he pushes a finger inside Stiles. “Ever thought about what this would be like?”

“Y-yes.”

“Did you — were you thinking about me?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles nods. “A lot. Thought about you doing this, about you fucking me, filling me up.” Derek’s up to two fingers now and Stiles pushes back against them, feeling more needy than he ever has before. “Please, Derek, I want —”

“I know, I got you. One more, okay?”

Anything Stiles would say is punched out of him by three of Derek’s fingers working him open. He feels full and empty all at once, needing more than just Derek’s fingers, but unable to speak. All he can do is let Derek fuck him open like this, his limbs feeling heavy as Derek turns him to mush.

Stiles whines when Derek removes his fingers, but it doesn’t take a moment before Derek’s right there, kissing him and Stiles scrambles to hold on, wrapping his legs around Derek’s body and returning the kiss.

“You ready?” Derek asks when they part.

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Derek, fuck me.”

Grinning, Derek presses a kiss against Stiles’ lips and nods. “Okay.”

It’s a firm pressure against Stiles’ hole, and then Derek’s pushing inside him and Stiles is finding it hard to breathe. “Oh _God_ ,” Stiles gasps, watching Derek’s face. “You —”

“You good?”

Stiles laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah, you — oh — could say that.” When Derek’s fully inside him, Stiles whines, looking up at Derek and wriggling his hips. “C’mon.”

“Patience is a lost art for you, isn’t it?”

“We can talk about my lack of patience after you’ve made me come.”

Derek kisses him as he fucks him, it’s a dual attack on Stiles’ senses, and Stiles wouldn’t want it any other way; Derek’s all around him, his mouth pressing against all parts of Stiles’ skin, his hips snapping as he fucks Stiles.

“Think you can come without me touching your cock?”

Stiles groans, teeth grazing Derek’s bottom lip as images flood his mind. He wonders what he looks like where Derek’s inside of him; how stretched he is around Derek’s cock; his own cock rubbing between them.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, yes, maybe.”

“You can,” Derek says decisively, fucking Stiles harder, like he can make Stiles come through sheer force of will.

Stiles can barely keep his eyes open, but he needs to keep looking at Derek while this is happening, needs to know that it’s real, that they’re really doing this. When Stiles’ orgasm hits, it’s a sudden punch to the gut, and his body spasms as come splatters between them. Derek’s curled over him, kissing his slack mouth, still buried inside him. “Okay?”

“You’re asking me after I came my brains out?” Stiles asks, his mouth twisted into a smile. “Yeah, Derek, I’m okay. You wanna come inside me?”

“Stiles, I —”

“I trust you.” There’s a part of Stiles that is sure Derek’s eyes would flash at that if his powers were fully there, but the look on his face is enough for Stiles. Then Derek starts to fuck him again, and all Stiles can do is hold on.

Derek tucks his face against the crook of Stiles’ neck as he fucks him, his mouth resting against Stiles’ skin as he moves his hips, pushing inside Stiles again and again. “Gonna — Stiles —” is all he gets out before he’s coming, his body trembling, hands fisting in the sheets.

There’s a cramp forming in Stiles’ right thigh, his body feels sticky and sore, and Derek is a heavy weight on top of him, but he doesn’t want to move. Stroking his hands down Derek’s back, Stiles turns his head and kisses Derek’s hair. “You okay?”

“M’great.”

Stiles always heard about the moments after sex being awkward, but there’s nothing awkward about this with Derek. After he pulls out, Derek grabs his shirt from the floor and cleans them both up carefully, throwing the shirt across the room when he’s done.

Tugging the blankets back from the bed, they both curl up underneath them, Stiles resting his head on Derek’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the hair.

“How long can you stay?” Derek asks, trailing his fingers along Stiles’ arm.

“As long as you want.”

“You — you didn’t treat me differently.”

“What are you talking about?”

Derek’s hand pauses for a moment before carrying on, slower than before. “When you found out I’m losing my powers. You didn’t treat me any different.”

“Well. You’re still Derek. Werewolf or not, you’re still Derek.” Stiles twists and lifts his head up, looking at him. “I know you’re scared — you don’t have to say it, I know you — but we’re going to fix this.”

“Before or after I die?”

“Hey.” Stiles moves until he’s face to face with Derek. “Don’t say that. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“That’s not something you can promise.”

“Did you hear me say that I was promising? Promises are for idiots. I’m not letting anything happen to you, I’m not letting you die. That’s facts, not promises.”

“You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Stiles makes a face and kisses the tip of Derek’s nose. “That would be boring. Whatever happens, we’re going to make it through.”

“Going to survive?”

“No,” Stiles says, meeting Derek’s eyes. “We’re going to live.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://heroderekhale.tumblr.com).


End file.
